


Eclipse

by FreeTheSoul



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: (kind of), Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Shippy Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:07:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22522246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreeTheSoul/pseuds/FreeTheSoul
Summary: Simon and Ludwig share a final conversation, an intimate thing.
Relationships: Ludwig (Bloodborne)/Simon the Harrowed
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26





	Eclipse

**Author's Note:**

> *gesturing my hands crazily*

The good hunter who had slain the ugly beast in the hall of blood is cruel, perhaps, in their honesty. They had not hesitated to tell the fallen Holy Blade of the truth of his Church hunters, though to their credit they _had_ lingered helplessly for a handful of minutes even when the man proved to be inconsolable. By now, they were long gone - off in pursuit of more bloodshed, no doubt.

Simon, meanwhile, had watched the entire exchange from the safety of the shadows. 

It had taken a long time for Ludwig’s mournful baying to finally go silent, and even then it would resurface in broken intervals - at times, an almost-human element to his howling made Simon suspect he was listening to the man sob. It is when the final echoes of his voice have dissipated from the great chamber that Simon removes himself from the wall he’d been leaning against, shaking off the living corpses that cling weakly to his clothes.

The stagnant, rotten blood splashes beneath his feet as he crosses to where the beast lays and, despite his assumption that Ludwig had perhaps lost consciousness, an eye blinks open at the sound. Simon stops his footsteps and allows himself to be scrutinized.

“...An assassin of the Church, I presume?” The clouded eye peers up at him, then closes as Ludwig lets out a long, tired sigh. “I am afraid that your energy would be better spent elsewhere. I will die soon enough, with or without your help.”

A low, bitter chuckle rolls out of Simon’s throat, even though there is nothing about this situation that he finds particularly humorous. Ludwig goes silent at the sound, eye once again trained curiously on the man slowly approaching. 

“I daresay my days of serving the Church are over, o Holy Blade.”

A gasp. “Simon? Is that…?” His voice dies, too overwhelmed by shock and disbelief.

“Indeed.”

“Simon… Oh, my good Simon… why are you here?” Sorrow permeates his words. “In this hellish place…”

There is that neighing again, a sad cry to the heavens. Simon stops his advance mere feet away from where the man lays, thick blood sloshing to a standstill around his ankles.

“I will not - I _can not_ \- let the Church hide its wretched secrets.” A familiar, determined bitterness - the same that has driven him time and time again - coils in his chest and burns in his voice. “This nightmare is the key, and I do not intend to have it slip through my fingers. I will tear this place apart if I must. The good hunter you fought is an ally to the cause, it should seem.”

“...I see.” Ludwig sighs, then goes silent for a time. “I see,” he repeats, trailing off sadly.

Simon wonders, briefly, if that will be the end of their conversation. He isn’t quite sure what he expected, what he wanted, from this encounter, but he feels dissatisfied by it.

Instead, Ludwig continues after a moment of contemplation. “Even if I could, I would not stop you and your pursuit. The Church… if what your friend told me about my hunters was the truth…”

Simon nods, a slight thing.

“I truly was a misguided, pitiful man. You were right, Simon.”

It’s a simple statement, and one he knows to be true. It should not bring him so much pain to hear it.

“...I wish I hadn’t been,” he admits. “The Church may rot, in all its insidious nature, but you…” His voice wavers, and he curses himself. _You were a hero,_ he wants to say, but he bites it back. “Your intent was good. It always was.”

A choked, animalistic sound rips itself from Ludwig’s throat; he attempts to reign it in, but it takes more than a moment. Simon waits, in a polite silence, as he had before. 

“Oh, Simon…” There is something fragile about the way he speaks. “Intent means little when my actions have brought such… horror. Look around you, my good hunter. A holy man should not be found in filth of his own making. I aligned myself with the Church knowing full well that there must have been something hidden from me, something nefarious in the shadows, and yet I still did as they asked. The Holy Blade, dutiful to a fault indeed…”

He trails off with a pitiful laugh, and the sour self-loathing laced in his words bites deep into Simon’s core. He wants to comfort the man, but something cold and hardened within him stops the impulse. It admonishes him for being so willing to indulge in his own regrets that he would bend over backwards for the man who shone as a pillar of the Church and all it stood for, who brought this suffering well unto himself.

“When you and your fellows denounced me… Truth be told, I thought you a mad fool at the time. What sane man would turn their back on the Healing Church and all the good it had done for Yharnam?” His voice sounds to be bordering on hysteria. “How ironic that thought would prove to be…”

And yet. And yet.

“You didn’t know,” Simon whispers, nearly pleading with him. 

“But you tried to tell me,” Ludwig replies simply, closing his eye again. “And I refused to listen, leading my hunters further along that terrible, terrible path. Simon… what have I _done?”_

He lets out a sad bray, his breath coming out in huffs as he tries to control his emotions when they threaten to consume him. Simon finds himself at a loss for what to say, instead choosing to say nothing in what he hopes is understood as a gesture of respect for his fallen hero.

Ludwig is eventually calm once more, Simon having remained unmoving through his fit. Neither of them acknowledge what had just transpired, having reached a silent agreement not to. Ludwig casts his gaze over the man standing before him, examining him with a certain care.

“Come closer,” Ludwig beckons tiredly, a gentle murmur. “I want to see you.”

Simon thinks, as he obliges, that he could never in a thousand years deny such a tender request - least of all from the man making it. He closes the gap between the two of them, then crouches down on the balls of his feet. Distantly, he thinks that the blood seeping into the tail of his cloak is going to be a nuisance to wash out. 

Their faces can’t be more than a couple of feet apart, yet Ludwig still seems to strain to see him clearly. His breathing becomes labored and impatient as he attempts to examine the face of his old friend, and Simon does not rush him.

“Your eyes…?” He finally breathes out.

Simon hesitates for a moment, having forgotten that he had been rather more whole - in more ways than one - the last time Ludwig had seen him. “This nightmare is not… kind,” he settles on as an explanation. “I can still see, more or less, and my instincts serve me well enough. Excessive light is rather painful, however.”

Ludwig gives an understanding hum. “Well. I daresay there is little of that here.”

It takes a moment for Simon to realize the insinuation at hand, and he replies with a dry chuckle. “Is that an invitation?” He teases, the smirk on his face creeping into his voice.

“If you wish it to be.”

Ah, yes, he does not miss the playful undertone this time. His laugh, muted as it is, is more genuine now as he unwraps the gauze he hides his eyes with and allows himself to bare the nasty, ill-healed scarring to the man in front of him. Simon blinks a few times as he tries to adjust to the loss of that familiar, comforting pressure.

“Not a pretty sight, is it?” 

“I daresay I’ve no place to criticize you on matters of appearance, my dear Simon,” Ludwig replies, voice tinged with equal hints of sarcasm and amusement.

Simon snorts. “Fair enough.”

That eye watches him carefully, for a moment, and Ludwig is once again gentle when he speaks. “I am… so very grateful to see you are alright. To see someone, most of all you, has not yet succumbed to this nightmare… I am thankful. Perhaps it is by the Light’s benevolence that I was given the chance to speak with you once more.” He sighs, contented. “Promise you will take care of yourself, Simon. Promise me that much.”

Emotion chokes his voice when he replies, “I promise. It is the least I can do.”

Silence falls over the two of them. Overcome by a sudden impulse, Simon leans inwards and reaches out a hand, hesitating as it hovers above Ludwig’s mane. The coarse hair is matted with blood and worse when he combs his fingers through it, but he ignores the feeling and repeats the motion. Beneath him, Ludwig makes a soft, seemingly-pleased sound at the contact, and his breathing deepens and slows as if he were on the verge of sleep. When the worst of it has been combed out of the limited area that Simon can reach, he brings his hand forward to stroke Ludwig’s cheek, then leaves it resting there. A calloused thumb absently pets the wrinkled skin as he considers the man in front of him and where to proceed.

It’s a terribly indulgent thought, but it takes hold of him in a way he cannot explain. He uses the fact that Ludwig seems to find his touch calming as a kind of justification; he tells himself that the man deserves that much after all he’s been through, but Simon knows deep down that it is something more than that. He deigns not to give it too much thought.

Simon lets his hand ghost across the bridge of Ludwig’s nose as he shifts his weight forward to his knees and sinks into the bloody sludge beneath them. The change in position allows him more room to move himself, and he takes advantage of it to dip his head down and rest his face against Ludwig’s, closing his eyes and holding the man in a loose and awkward hug. The stench of festering, decayed flesh is nigh-unbearable when not overwhelmed by the sharp tang of blood that permeates the area, but Simon blocks it out to the best of his ability. He’s experienced worse, after all. 

The sound Ludwig makes below him would be inaudible if they were not so close, and he figures that is enough. He is being horribly greedy, Simon tells himself, but it is enough.

They are both silent for a long time, too long, relishing this final company. Eventually, Ludwig shifts slightly below him.

“Do you still rely on a bow, my good hunter?”

The question comes unprompted, driven by simple curiosity.

“Of course,” Simon replies, face still laying against Ludwig’s cheek. He withdraws, ignoring the sickening feeling of the blood that’s clung to his skin as he detaches his bowblade and brings it forth for Ludwig to, hopefully, see.

“...Oh!” There’s a note of warm delight in his exclamation. “I’m glad to see you’ve kept it.”

“Of course,” Simon repeats, his voice gentler now, and a smile tugging at his lips at Ludwig’s apparent joy. “The steel is perhaps a tad worn, but, ah, well… If I will compliment the Church for anything, it’s their weaponsmiths.” He pauses. “I’ve not forgotten your kindness in vouching for the design-- I do believe they would’ve dismissed my concept and thought me insane without your timely intervention.”

“I am inclined to agree,” Ludwig lets out an amused snort. “I thought it was a rather odd request, myself, at first - but I was not deaf to the gossip of the Holy Blade and his own odd, perhaps nonexistent, blessed sword. I am a fool, yes, but I should hope not a hypocrite.”

It is hard to approximate human emotion on that grotesque face, but Simon does not think it a stretch to assume that Ludwig is smiling as he continues.

“Besides, you more than proved your skill with the bow - loathe am I to think how some of those hunts may have gone without your quiet expertise at my side.”

Simon ducks his head at the praise, and the two of them settle into a comfortable silence. 

“A shame you never took up the sword, though I suppose the style never suited you.”

The comment feels rather out of nowhere, Simon thinks.

“Well, I’ve always been a street rat, as the good men and women of the Church liked to call us poor Harrowed bastards.” He snorts. “Much like my distaste for firearms - noisy, troublesome things - subdued methods are much more fitting to my line of work. Your grace with a blade is unparalleled, but rather… flashy.”

The comment draws a low chuckle from Ludwig. “Why, you make it seem like the greatest struggle in the world to give an honest compliment.”

Simon shrugs, grinning somewhat.

“No matter,” Ludwig continues, the humor ebbing from his voice. “I had simply thought… perhaps, I ought to entrust my sword to you. It would not do to let my master rot forgotten in this hall - only one of us deserves that fate.”

Simon’s throat feels dry; he does not like to consider where Ludwig is leading the conversation. “I am… honored, by the sentiment. But you know I would do the two of you an injustice. Perhaps, when I see my hunter friend next, I could…?” He ventures, hoping it is not too forward-- he knows quite well how much the sword means, even if he has never understood the Holy Blade's fixation on those little lights.

Ludwig considers the idea for a moment. “…Yes, perhaps that would be good. It is they who bested me, after all. It would be the proper thing to do, and you have vouched for their goodness. Perhaps the lights would not mind--”

Simon wants to interject with some kind of smart comment and continue their banter, but something about the way Ludwig has cut himself off feels wrong.

His suspicions are confirmed when Ludwig lets out a low moan, his glazed-over eye rolling upward to stare at-- something. “Oh… Do you see it, Simon?”

Simon withdraws enough that he can get a good view of the ceiling, but there is nothing of note there. A glance back down confirms that Ludwig is still staring, fixated on something he cannot see. A confused whisper draws itself from him. “What…”

“The moonlight…” A shuddering gasp rolls through him as he ignores Simon entirely. “My sweet moonlight, I can see it…”

The equine screams begin again and, for the first time, Simon flinches. The sound is harsh and uncontrolled, more akin to delirious laughter than the pathetic sobs from before. It is a truly pitiful display, and a pang strikes Simon deep in his heart at the thought. The Holy Blade had always been a man equal parts feared and revered, composed in even the most dire situations - Simon had witnessed as much firsthand, long ago. Now, his shrill shrieks are permeated only by mad ravings about the former hunter’s blessed, accursed light. 

The noise does not stop. Ludwig does not seem inclined to compose himself - Simon wonders if he has well and truly lost his mind again, those last shreds of sanity worn down by his pain and despair. 

“Ludwig,” he whispers hoarsely, forcing himself to keep his voice firm. Perhaps the man can still be brought back to reason. “Ludwig.”

The only sound he receives as a response is inhuman in nature, and he steps back. He wants to beg - he nearly does - but he cannot fool himself that he had not already known that their time together would be brief. It was enough of a testament to the man’s will that he was able to regain even this much of his humanity, to cling to lucidity despite the way his severed neck continues to ooze fresh blood. 

The bowblade is still in his hand, he realizes numbly when he finds he’s tightened his grip so much so that the steel is digging into his palm. He pulls his gaze away from the beast thrashing on the ground in front of him to stare at his weapon, an awful thought suddenly coming to mind - one that he barely wants to consider, but knows he must. 

He has always been one of the Harrowed. It has always been his duty to end the suffering of those who have begun to lose their humanity. That thought, cold and cruel, writhes deep in Simon’s chest as he draws back his bow and closes his eyes.

Ludwig’s final cry echoes in his mind well after the hall has gone silent.

**Author's Note:**

> i think theyre neat
> 
> I find it rude when strangers comment criticism (constructive or not) unprompted, so please don't! I write fics for my own entertainment. Other comments are greatly appreciated, however.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
